When I Think of Christmas

You'd think if you were going to make a movie about professional singers, you'd cast actors that don't sound horrible when they "sing." Not so here, because you see these are actors, pretending to be someone else, and apparently they're pretending they're someone who can sing. The mother, played by Beth Broderick has an incredibly grating speaking voice, and when she sings it's like nails on a chalkboard, yet her character is supposed to be some kind of retired legendary singer. This film is stupid and horrible and insults the audience. I guess suspending disbelief includes imagining the noise coming from the actors' mouth is singing. I once had a terrible nightmare that I was back in Ireland at my dad's wake and some mad scientist mortician had connected a pipe into my deceased father's lungs so the mourners could pull levers and a machine would force air into my dad's lungs and up through his larynx to make him talk. But of course it was all very macabre and terrifying. That being said, the singing in this film was worse than my nightmare.

There are actually no redeeming features to this movie. I resent my mother for talking me into watching it and I resent having to take my valuable time writing this review, which means by extension I resent you all. I'm writing this for you after all in the hope I might spare you the discomfort of sitting through it.

I keep thinking about those monkeys at the zoo that throw excrement at people and wondering if perhaps I should do that to my television. If that sort of thing makes the monkeys feel better it might do me some good too.